


With Love in Mind One Shots

by TuppingLiberty



Series: With Love in Mind [7]
Category: Original Work
Genre: Aftercare, Anal Plug, Anal Sex, Asexual Character, Blow Jobs, Collection of one shots, Daddy Kink, Dom/sub, Domestic Fluff, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Established Relationship, Exhibitionism, Explicit Consent, Fluff, Low Self-Esteem, M/M, Rope Bondage, Safe Sane and Consensual, Safewords, Semi-Public Sex, Sex Toys Under Clothing, Spanking, Subspace, bondage under clothing, graysexual character, rating will vary, vibrating plug
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-16
Updated: 2019-10-11
Packaged: 2019-11-20 19:27:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 18,881
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18131015
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TuppingLiberty/pseuds/TuppingLiberty
Summary: Alan and Graeme live their best lives.A one-shot collection for my original work, With Love in Mind.I don't have any plans right now to write a novel-length piece with these two again, but here is where I'll post any one-shots.





	1. Cartoons on the Couch - Rated G

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Dragon_Oppa](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dragon_Oppa/gifts).



Graeme’s feet hurt as he shuffles into their apartment building, nodding a greeting at the door guard. Their regular guy is still on paternity leave, and Graeme makes a mental note to check the meal train website to see if there’s any gaps he and Alan can fill. 

He sighs as he lets himself collapse against the wall of the empty elevator. He’d started the day with a long shift at Reene’s, but then had class until 5, and traffic had been a bear, and it’s one of those Seattle winter/spring days where it feels like summer is never going to come and the world is going to stay dark and rainy forever and ever and ever. 

Needless to say, he’s looking forward to getting home, stripping off his wet clothes, and cuddling with Alan. 

His plans change abruptly when he opens the front door and all that’s there to greet him is Alan’s sad smile over his shoulder, and a little “Hello.” 

Of course, Graeme’s immediate response is panic, and adrenaline shoots its spiky pain through his system, but after he has a second to assess, he’s able to will his heartbeat to calm. If something bad had happened or someone had gotten hurt, Alan would have called him. So, he takes off his dripping raincoat and slips out of the boots. His jeans are still wet, but they’ll have to wait. 

He sits down beside Alan, and takes his hand, bringing it up for a kiss. “Hey, honey. What’s up?” 

Alan leans over, placing a kiss on his forehead. “Just a long day, you know? Sorry.” 

“Can I…?” Graeme gestures at Alan’s lap, and at Alan’s nod, he crawls into it, curling up in his fiance’s arms. He starts working at massaging the knots from Alan’s shoulders; they always form, because he’s hunched over a keyboard all day. “Can you tell me about it?” 

Alan sighs, hugging Graeme closer. His breath ruffles through Graeme’s hair. “Annual board meeting, right? Well, the board spent most of the time pressuring me to go public, talking about how much money we could make, and all that. But it’s not like that’s even guaranteed! Look what happened to Facebook when it went public.”

“Plus then you have less control.” 

Alan lets out a bitter laugh. “Nailed it in one, baby.” He dips, brushing his lips over Graeme’s. “I love you.” 

Graeme scratches his fingers up Alan’s beard. “I love you, too. Tell me the rest.” 

“There’s a board member who is putting a particular amount of pressure on me. And he’s the same one who was...displeased...when I started splitting my time between my company and Tommy’s Place. Felt it distracted me from the more important work of making everyone more rich.” 

Graeme frowns. “Gross.” 

“Yeah.” 

“Seriously, fuck that guy. I know it’s not that simple, but he doesn’t have a say over what you do with the charity. It’s separate. It’s important to you. It helps you fuel your creativity at work.” 

Alan holds up a hand defensively. “All things I know.” 

“Right, sorry.” Graeme’s lips lift a little. “You should give me this guy’s name.” 

“I shudder to think what would happen to him.” 

“Oh, nothing. I mean, I was planning on giving him a hard pitch for Reene’s services, and then doing something to his food every day, but … nothing.” Graeme glows when that makes Alan laugh, his intention all along. He kisses Alan’s lips, letting his fingers drift through Alan’s hair. “Anything else?” 

Alan heaves a sigh, resting their foreheads together. “Yeah, I- well, I wanted to remind myself why I do this, so I went by Tommy’s Place. That’s always hard. Good, but hard.” 

“A nice cap on a shitty day, in other words.” 

“Yeah.” 

Graeme sits up straighter in Alan’s lap, resting his hands on Alan’s shoulders and looking him in the eyes. “You know what my recipe is for a shitty day?” 

Alan’s smile looks genuine for the first time since Graeme got home. “Enlighten me?” 

Graeme pulls off, then holds out his hands to pull Alan to his feet. “Well, it’s kind of a secret, actually, but I do have a mission for you while I get ready.” 

When Alan stands, he immediately sweeps Graeme into a crushing hug that makes Graeme laugh. “Okay, I’m ready for orders.” 

“You need to go put on the most comfortable pair of sweats and softest shirt you have. Got it?” 

Alan nods, looking a little tired, but definitely already brighter. As soon as he starts heading back to the bedroom, Graeme swings into action, but then remembers, “Hey, can you bring out my onesie?” 

After a muffled affirmative from the bedroom, Graeme whirls around the living room, piling up all of the blankets and pillows and grabbing the extras from the guest bedroom. Glancing over his shoulder to make sure Alan isn’t back yet, he heads into the kitchen and opens one of the cupboards for his secret stash - he’d had to hide it again after he told Alan about it during his dental work. Honestly, he’s sure Alan wouldn’t care in the slightest about it, but… old habits die hard. 

Once he has the right snack, he turns on the huge TV and cues up the correct show. By the time Alan’s padding back out, both cats hot on his tail, Graeme’s ready. 

“Carmen Sandiego?” Alan asks, reading the TV screen. “This doesn’t look like Carmen Sandiego.” 

“It’s  _ new,  _ old fogey. Give it a shot. I’ve heard great things. C’mon, snuggle in.” Graeme gestures Alan over to the couch, then buries him in blankets so that just his head is sticking out. Laughing, he gives Alan a peck on the forehead before stripping off his own shirt. He puts on a little show with the jeans, mostly because he has to go slowly because they’re wet from the rain and therefore clinging to his skin. When he finally has peeled everything - including underwear, to Alan’s wolf whistle - off, and pulled on his comfy fox onesie, he snuggles in beside Alan on the couch. He finds Alan’s hand under the covers, gripping it tight, as the other uses the remote to get the show started. 

As the intriguing opening theme comes on, Alan relaxes into his side, sighing, and resting his head on top of Graeme’s. 

“Oh, wait, one more thing,” Graeme murmurs as both cats find positions on the blankets to curl up, too. He rustles for a moment, then pulls the package of Oreos from below the covers. He grabs one, and offers it up to Alan’s lips. 

After a second’s hesitation, which Alan uses to laugh, he takes the Oreo, whole, into his mouth and starts to chew. 

“Best. Fiance. Ever,” Alan manages between bites. 

Graeme snuggles in, enjoying how relaxed Alan feels now, reveling in his laughter at Devineaux’s antics on-screen. He gets why Alan gets off on this. His own tiredness from the day seems to melt away given the chance to help Alan out. He sighs, content with how content his man is, as the rain continues to fall outside.  


	2. Graeme's Birthday Adventure, part 1 - rated E

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Graeme's having another birthday, so Alan's taking him on an adventure! (Pt 1)
> 
> This chapter is rated E for smut.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to Dragon_Oppa for the inspiration

“So I don’t get to know  _ anything?”  _ Graeme asks dryly, his mouth quirking up on one side. “How will I know what to pack?” 

With a nervous laugh, Alan cards through Graeme’s fade. “I was, uh...hoping you’d let me take care of that, too? I’ve been doing some shopping.” He leans over to kiss Graeme, whose head is laying in his lap. 

It’s been that kind of Saturday, no social obligations, no homework for Graeme, no major work for Alan. Just lazing about, reading, knitting, kissing, carding fingers through hair like they’ve no care in the world. 

Happily, Graeme blushes, then smiles, just a little, like he doesn’t want to show Alan exactly how pleased he is but he can’t help it. “I’d like that, Daddy.” 

They’re not going to go into a scene, but Alan recognizes it for the flirt, the tease that it’s meant to be. They’re probably never going to be full on, all the time Daddy/Baby Boy lifestyle, but it’s crept into their lives outside of the bedroom - cough, or other places, cough - enough times. 

Sometimes Alan can’t help it. The qualities that make him a good Dom spill over into the rest of their relationship. He just...loves taking care of Graeme, whether Graeme’s his Baby Boy at the moment or not. Case in point, the trip he’s painstakingly planned for Spring Break this year, as a birthday celebration and as a reward for Graeme finishing his program at the community college. They’re going to stick around long enough for Graeme to walk, and for Alan’s mom to throw a fucking huge graduation party for him - she’s been texting Alan nonstop with the details - and then they’re getting on a flight for a week away from school and work and obligations and anyone, all to themselves. 

And Alan’s been driving Graeme crazy by not giving him any details. His fingers hesitate in Graeme’s hair, though. “I'm not triggering your anxiety?”

“Only in what Clarissa would say is a good way. The healthy, normal type of anxiety. More like excitement, you know?” Graeme’s grin beams up at him, and he looks pleased with himself and his progress. 

Only fair, considering how damn proud Alan is of him. 

A melody floats through his head as he continues to stroke Graeme’s hair while Graeme goes back to reading aloud from the Percy Jackson novel they'd moved on to after Harry Potter. It takes him a few minutes of quiet humming before he finally places the song, and he can hear in his mind his dad's off-key voice singing along to Crosby, Stills, and Nash. He unknowingly hums the tune as his fingers glide through Graeme’s hair. When Graeme stops reading, looking up at him, Alan blushes. 

“Sorry. One of my dad’s old favorites.” 

Graeme’s smile is small, but brilliant, the one he reserves for Alan’s father, Mike. They’ve bonded over food, he and Graeme and Alan’s brother-in-law, Rick. They have a group chat, just the three of them, and Alan’s heart swells every time he thinks about it, about just how vital to his whole life Graeme has become. 

Graeme pokes him in the side. “Which one?” 

Clearing his throat - he’s not as tone deaf as his dad, but he’s not that strong, either - he picks out a starting note and manages the chorus:

_     Our house is a very, very, very, very fine house, _

_     With two cats in the yard. Life used to be so hard.  _

_     Now everything is easy ‘cause of you… _

Graeme blinks, rubbing just a little wetness out of his eye. “You dork,” he mumbles, before burying his face in Alan’s sweater and giving in to the tears. 

Setting the book aside, Alan lifts Graeme up into his lap, rocking him gently, continuing to hum the song. 

“I love you,” Graeme whispers against his neck. “God, I fucking love you so much.” 

Beaming from the inside out, Alan tilts his head up for a kiss. It’s just so easy. 

 

Graeme can’t stop laughing. Or smiling. He can’t stop expressing the incredible lightness he feels, having officially graduated, with a job lined up working for Reene, whose business has been expanding rapidly through word of mouth. 

He’s graduated, and he’s feeling pretty fucking high on life, and then he sees the beaming pride on Alan’s face, and it reminds him of his own pride in himself all over again. 

He fucking did it. 

And god, yeah, probably there are going to be a million more complications in life from here on out - he and Alan have a wedding to plan, at some point, after all - but he did it. 

Mike gives him a huge, rib crushing hug that pulls him off his feet, and Linda kisses his cheek. István repeats the hug, swinging Graeme around in a partial dance before kissing him on the mouth just a little more thoroughly. And everything, all of it, makes Graeme laugh. Like he’s floating through the best subspace he’s ever been in. He’s grateful for Alan’s hand on the small of his back, anchoring him a bit to reality. The fact that Alan’s paying constant attention to him, making sure he stays hydrated and has food and guiding Graeme through some of the interactions when he shows signs of getting introverted-out, it makes the whole party one of the best he’s ever been to. And the fact that it’s all for him, that all of these people genuinely want to celebrate his achievement - it’s a bit heady. He’s almost disappointed when he and Alan have to start saying their goodbyes to head to the airport, Alan’s family having graciously agreed to clean the party up and take care of the cats in their absence. 

Hendrick’s wife, Cecilia, joins them in the town car, sitting up front with her husband, since they’d both been at the party, and they’ll head home together afterwards. Graeme leans into Alan’s shoulder, coming down a bit from his high and just listening to Alan, Hendrick, and Ceci all interact. His fingers are wrapped in Alan’s, and he could almost let his eyes drift shut if he weren’t on pins and needles about wherever it is they’re heading. Someplace exotic? Alan hasn't taken him overseas yet, but he thought he saw Alan pack his passport.  


At the curb, they pile out, calling goodbyes to Hendrick and Ceci. Graeme is eager when Alan hands him his backpack as his carry on item. Curious, he rifles through it while Alan deals with curbside check for their shared checked bag, and is pleasantly surprised to find his current knitting project, his latest Percy Jackson book, and all of his favorite snacks, along with his meds and chargers and all of the other accoutrements one needs. No clues here, though, for where they’re going.  


He slings it on his back and leans in to brush a kiss over Alan’s cheek, taking his hand to walk inside. Finally, Alan hands him a boarding pass and his passport. Eager, Graeme searches the ticket for… “Redmond, Oregon?” 

Instead of being offended, Alan laughs at his confused face, then pulls him in for a kiss. “Trust me.” 

“You know I do, implicitly.” 

Alan’s face is sincere, and this time, he just kisses Graeme’s forehead. “I know you do.” 

 

The first thing he notices, stepping off the tiniest plane he’s ever been on and onto the tarmac - the tarmac! Not a tunnel! - in Redmond, is the smell. Despite the fact that they’re standing next to a plane that should be putting off all kinds of mechanical smells, Graeme’s nose is overwhelmed by a deep, earthy scent. He inhales again, letting out a happy sigh, and hears Alan do the same on the other side of him as they wait for their one checked bag. 

“So where exactly are we?” he asks, his fingers sliding once again into Alan’s. 

“Central Oregon. Portland is approximately-” Alan looks around, getting his bearings. “- that way. Beyond those mountains. A lot of hours. My family used to come here for vacation but we’d drive down from Seattle.” 

Graeme follows his pointing finger, but gets stopped by the vision of the sun setting over a string of magnificent mountain peaks. It’s stunning, and Graeme is momentarily floored. He snaps out of it when Alan returns with their luggage and they start heading for the exit. 

Graeme stops short, letting out a little laugh at the sight of a very smartly dressed woman holding up a sign lettered “Congratulations, Graeme!” 

“That’s our ride,” Alan says with a grin. 

To Graeme’s surprise, the woman is just there to hand off keys to Alan and get his signature on the paperwork as they walk towards the parking lot. 

“Don’t you have- um, aren’t you going to get stuck here?” Graeme asks hesitantly, as if he’s missing something when Alan starts loading their bags. 

“I’ve got a colleague picking me up. Have a great time, you two,” she says brightly with a nod at Graeme. 

Graeme is also surprised at the choice of car. It’s an SUV, so opposite the Tesla that it brings Graeme up short. When he says something, Alan nods. “Yeah, the cabin is off the beaten path, so to speak, so we need something with a taller floor. And it’s a hybrid.” 

“Ooo, cabin?” Graeme is silently pleased that they’re not camping. Maybe he’s gotten soft since he hooked up with Alan - Soft? Hardly, his inner 12-year-old jokes - but he likes their nice, comfy bed.

“Yeah. Ready to check it out? I’ve got the key code. We don’t even need to stop for supplies, the fridge and pantry should be stocked for us.” 

Graeme pulls a serious face. “But did they buy Oreos?” 

Alan laughs as he buckles himself in, then pulls Graeme’s hand over for a kiss. “I double-checked that they got Oreos.” 

“Man of my dreams.” Graeme flutters his eyelashes. 

 

Cabin turns out to be an understatement. Not that it’s a mansion, either, though. It’s just a beautifully built, modern, single-story log house down a drive a half mile long. Graeme feels a sense of isolation he’s never felt before, and only finds it mildly creepy. 

He breathes in more of that wonderful scent he knows he’s going to forever associate with this trip. As they step up to the door, however, that scent recedes into the more overwhelming cedar smell of the wood frame of the cabin. “I feel like we’re on Little House on the Prairie or something,” he says, even as Alan opens the door with an extremely modern keypad. 

The inside is rustic, but hardly ‘roughing it,’ in Graeme’s estimation. It has an open floor plan, the kitchen and living sharing space, a large king bed tucked behind a divider in the corner, and a small bathroom off the back. Graeme sets his bag down by the door, toeing off his flats and walking over to the fireplace - real wood. He sinks his toes - nails currently a pretty sky blue - into the plush fur rug covering the wooden planked floor, noting a little sign on the mantle assuring him the fur is vegan.  _ Because Oregon, _ Graeme thinks. 

He turns back to Alan, who’s still standing at the door, taking everything in, grinning. Graeme arches a single brow, rubbing his feet in the fur still. “You know you’re going to have to fuck me on this rug, right?” 

Alan’s eyes widen for one second before he laughs, crossing the room to drop their shared suitcase by the bed. “I’ll put it on the to-do list.” 

“We have a to-do list? I thought this was vacation.” Unable to resist his man, Graeme walks to Alan and wraps his arms around Alan’s waist. 

Alan starts ticking off fingers. “Fuck you in the bed, fuck you in the shower, fuck you over the kitchen counter, now we’re adding the rug. Busy week, you and I.” 

Graeme laughs, pulling Alan’s hand back and closing his fingers. “I hope you brought lots of dildos, then.” 

Alan takes their joined hands and leads Graeme into a swaying dance to some unheard tune. “I guess that’s for Daddy to know and Baby Boy to find out, isn’t it?” 

Graeme’s knees wobble and his heart thuds against his ribs. “Fuck, Alan,” he lets out with a breathy laugh, laying his head on Alan’s shoulder. “How did I get so lucky?” 

“Not luck. You earned this,” Alan counters, kissing his forehead. “Congratulations, baby.” 

Graeme moves his arms up, circling Alan’s neck and leaning in for a lingering kiss. Alan responds in kind, his hands smoothing over Graeme’s back before landing on his ass and pressing him more firmly against Alan’s body. It’s one of Graeme’s favorite feelings, being dwarfed by this gentle giant of a man, who looks even more like a lumberjack now in his jeans and red flannel. Graeme should have known once he saw Alan’s outfit that they were heading for the woods. Instead, he’d just ogled his fiance like normal. 

One kiss bleeds into another, and then Alan’s hand is creeping below the waistband of Graeme’s low-rise jeans. His hand cups Graeme’s bare cheek, squeezing and pulling tighter before his fingers graze over Graeme’s hole. 

“Too many clothes,” Graeme mutters, his voice slurred with desire, his hands clumsy as they try to work the buttons on the flannel. 

Alan has a much easier time pulling off Graeme's hoodie, his chest bared for Alan even though Alan’s still got several layers to go. Frustrated, Graeme whines, tugging on the flannel. “I’m going to rip these damn buttons off like some kind of old fashioned romance novel hero,” he complains, and Alan finally takes pity on him, helping. 

Graeme’s fingers play over Alan’s stomach, tickling at the hair there, before coming to rest on the fly of his jeans. “What’re we doing, here? What do you want?” 

Alan captures his mouth for another kiss before rubbing his bearded cheek over Graeme’s. “Right now, I’d like to blow you, if that’s okay?” 

“What level do you want back?” Graeme asks, referring to their preferred method for Alan to express exactly how ace his gray asexuality is feeling at the moment. His fingers still linger at Alan’s fly.

“PG,” Alan murmurs before taking his mouth again, meaning:  _ Nothing below the belt right now, thanks. _

Smiling, Graeme lets Alan topple them to the bed. 

“You were so good today.” Alan’s lips drift over his neck before renewing a mark on Graeme’s collar bone that he’d made a few days ago. 

Graeme shivers, unable to stop feeling from welling up inside him at the thought of his Daddy’s happiness. “Daddy,” he whimpers, blushing, wanting to go under just a little, even if they’re not doing a full on scene. It would be so easy to slip under right now, like sliding into a pool. 

Alan’s eyes meet his, searching. “You want to go down for me, Baby Boy?” 

Graeme’s “Yeah, just a little” comes out all breathy. 

“Sounds good.” 

Happy that they’ve set their rules, Graeme relaxes into the bed, letting Alan’s body cover his again. “More,” he whispers. 

“I’m so proud of you, walking across that stage, head held high. You looked so confident, and happy, and magnificent. I’ve been wanting to do this since then.” 

Alan’s fingers work at his fly, then slip the jeans over his narrow hips. He continues working his mouth down Graeme’s body, stopping to bring both nipples to hard peaks before kissing down Graeme’s stomach. 

“Daddy’s got you,” Alan says when Graeme makes a small noise of frustration at Alan’s teasing. 

And just like that, he’s slipping under, letting Alan have complete control of his body, of his pleasure. His Daddy is going to take care of him, and all he needs to do is float and take it. Alan continues his words of praise, like drops of happiness adding to the great well that is Graeme’s pleasure right now. 

When Alan’s mouth reaches his cock, it takes everything in him to keep his hips still, to be a good boy and let Daddy do all the work. He’s rewarded with warm praise, and even more pleasure blooms up brightly inside of him. 

Slowly, Alan slides down Graeme’s cock. The movement is torturous, but Graeme’s a good boy, he is, and he’s not going to take more than Daddy wants to give at the moment. 

Alan’s hands press his thighs out and down to the mattress, and when he lifts up and sinks back down rapidly, Graeme can almost imagine he’s being fucked into the mattress instead. He watches Alan’s bobbing head, the flush on his cheeks, the way he looks up every so often to check on Graeme. Graeme strokes through Alan’s hair, being careful not to pull hard. The sight of Alan going down on him, the feeling of wet suction his mouth is creating, it all makes Graeme wish he were wearing a cock ring, because he feels like he’s going to explode all too quickly. 

There’s no way he can last, not when Alan adds fuel to the fire, pushing a saliva-slick finger into him and expertly finding his prostate. Groaning, clutching at the sheets instead of Alan, Graeme floods his mouth with cum. 

“Daddy!” His shout echoes through the small cabin, and Graeme’s suddenly glad there’s no one around for miles. At home, they have soundproofing, but out here… They can be as loud as they fucking want, anyway. 

He collapses, not even realizing how he’d arched his body under Alan’s ministrations. Alan follows his same path up, soothing now instead of teasing. When he takes Graeme’s mouth again, he can taste himself, and he sighs into the kiss, perfectly satisfied, floating back up from subspace. 

“There you are,” Alan murmurs, kissing his cheek. 

Graeme wraps his arms around Alan and pulls him into a big hug, and Alan melts into it. “I love you, Alan. Thank you for taking such good care of me.” 

Alan seems to preen, glow, just like Graeme does with his praise, and Graeme can’t help but add more love words as they stay wrapped in each other. 

Eventually, Alan glances blearily at his watch, his head still resting on Graeme’s shoulder while Graeme strokes through his hair. “We should get ready for bed. We have an eight o’clock appointment tomorrow.” 

“Eight?” Graeme asks, his voice creeping up an octave. “What the heck for?” 

Alan grins, rolling off the bed and heading into the bathroom. “That part’s a surprise.” He returns with a warm washcloth, cleaning Graeme up thoroughly before kicking his jeans off. 

“There’re more surprises?” 

“Oh, baby, we’ve barely started.” Alan’s smile is wicked, and Graeme’s heart leaps in anticipation. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Our House by Crosby, Stills, and Nash: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=fm-q0ELuk1A  
> My choir is singing it this season, and every time we do, I think of Graeme and Alan. Listen and tell me you do too!
> 
> https://www.larrygoodmanphotography.com/Photography/Central-Oregon-1/i-B74XGT3/ is a very pretty picture of the Three Sisters (the mountain peaks Graeme sees at the beginning) in the sunset. Check out the rest of the gallery too, for a sense of place. :)
> 
> Not sure when I'll be updating this, but I have a rough sketch of the birthday adventure in my brain, so it will be happening!
> 
> Still taking suggestions - and yes, FantasticDream, I saw yours and loved it. <3 <3 I will probably do it sometime.


	3. Graeme's Birthday Adventure, part 2 - rated T

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Absolute fluff, both literal and figurative.

Graeme grumbles when Alan rolls out of bed at early o’clock the next morning. He moves into Alan’s warm spot and buries his face in the pillow, half asleep, half listening to Alan putter around in the kitchen, humming under his breath. 

But when the smell of coffee and toast grows stronger, he finally manages to wake. He fumbles through the blankets, then picks up Alan's flannel from the floor and uses it as his cover up. It's long enough to hide his dignity, just. And there’s something both sexy and comforting Graeme finds in wearing Alan’s things. 

“Morning,” he offers, immediately picking up one of the mugs of coffee from the counter and beginning to doctor it how he likes - light and sweet, thank you. 

Alan presses into his back, arms slipping around his waist. “It should be illegal for you to look like this,” he murmurs in Graeme’s ear. 

Graeme blushes, shaking his head. “Like what?” 

“Like you’re all sweetly rumpled from being thoroughly fucked last night.” His low tone of voice makes Graeme shiver. “You’re giving me all kinds of ideas.” 

Graeme turns in Alan’s arms, pressing a kiss to his lips. “If those ideas involve us going straight back to bed, you sexing me up, and then us falling asleep for three more hours, I’m game.” 

Alan laughs, nuzzling his bearded cheek along Graeme’s stubbly one. “As much as that sounds amazing, I think you might actually like your birthday present more than morning sex.” 

Graeme raises a skeptical brow. “That might be the ace talking.” 

“Trust me,” Alan says with another laugh. 

“Implicitly.” 

Alan turns to hand him a plate of scrambled eggs and toast - simple enough Alan feels confident in making it without Graeme’s help. “Eat while I get your clothes ready.” 

“Do I have enough time for a shower?” 

“Just. And if I don’t join you and distract you.” 

Graeme grins, sitting at the small breakfast table in the kitchen area. “Well then, I guess I’ll get going.” 

 

A half-hour later, Graeme’s stepping out of the bathroom, towel around his waist, face cleanly shaved, and breath minty fresh. 

“Okay, I’m ready for you,” Alan says, gesturing to the outfit laid out on the bed.

Graeme grows thoughtful. Normally, Alan buys him clothes that fall into two categories: sexy or cozy. He especially loves Graeme in a crop top and Graeme swears he now owns more crops than regular tees. Same with his pajama sets: Alan has always liked wrapping him up in fluffy, comforting clothes. 

The outfit on the bed is neither, Graeme decides, as he slips on the boxer briefs. When he pulls on the jeans, the first thing he notices is how sturdy they are. True to Alan being Alan, they also make his ass look amazing, but they’re clearly not aiming for that as their first purpose. Next is a long-sleeved grey henley that fits him perfectly, if the look in Alan’s eye is any indication. Finally, a brand new black hoodie, a zip up, emblazoned on the back with a nicely designed logo for ‘Juniper Creek Farm.’

“Juniper Creek Farm?” Graeme asks as he shrugs into it. 

Alan just smiles his secretive Dom smile. “And here.” He tosses Graeme a pair of thick wool socks and sets a brand new pair of sturdy leather boots with a Carhartt label on the bed. 

“I feel so butch,” Graeme says with a laugh, sitting down to pull the socks on as Alan joins him to do the same. 

“We can put you in heels later to make up for it,” Alan offers. “This is what was recommended for today, though.” 

Graeme attempts a sly crooked smile like Frodo. “All right then, keep your secrets.” 

He stands, zipping up the hoodie and slipping his hands in the pockets, relishing that extremely-fluffy-fuzzy new sweatshirt feeling. “How do I look?” 

Standing, Alan pulls Graeme into his arms for a thorough kiss. “Perfect.” 

“No hints? Not even a clue?” 

“Nope. C’mon.” Alan tugs him toward the door.

 

Graeme spends most of the drive admiring the countryside. In between farm fields, a lush green for spring, the land gives way to great fields of sage bush and juniper trees. The farms seem like an oasis among the high desert landscape. He’s surprised when Alan turns into one of those oases, an artistically rusted sign proclaiming it "Juniper Creek Farm.” 

“Hey, you did give me a hint!” 

Alan just laughs as they start up the drive toward an idyllic white farmhouse and a big red barn. On either side of the gravel road, a fence pens in green fields of sheep, and a couple of llamas. Or alpacas maybe. It’s the first time Graeme’s actually seeing them in real life so he’s not quite sure. 

There’s a woman, dressed in work clothes similar to Graeme’s, complete with the farm logo hoodie, that greets them at the end of the drive. Her curly brown hair is pulled back in a pony tail that makes the rest halo around the back of her head, and Graeme immediately feels drawn to her warm smile. “Alan Gerry?” she asks as they emerge from the car. 

Alan holds out his hand. “Theresa Billing?” 

“One and the same. Welcome to the farm!” She shakes Alan’s hand briskly, then turns to Graeme to offer it up again. Graeme finds her grip warm, rough, and sturdy. “And you must be the birthday boy, and fiber artist.” 

Graeme looks between them, letting out a little laugh. “I mean, I knit, but I’m not an arti-” 

“Alan sent me some picture of your work to see if we’d be compatible. Don’t sell yourself short, dude.” Theresa does a circle around him, holding out his hoodie in the back to presumably admire the logo. “Looks good on you, Graeme.” 

“Thanks for sending me the graphic design so I could get one printed for him," Alan says with a smile. 

Back in front of them, Theresa grins widely. “No problem. And he has no idea what we’re doing here, right?” 

“Totally clueless,” Graeme offers. 

“Ready for some enlightenment?  _ I can show you the world-” _ Theresa smiles, cocking an eyebrow. 

She surprises Graeme into a laugh. “Yeah!” It’s hard not to feel enthusiastic in her presence. 

She begins walking them toward the barn, giving them a spiel about the farm, it’s inhabitants and history. “There are some century farms in this area - hard to get a whole lot older than that here in Oregon, but we started in ‘99 with a tiny flock. I still like it small: I mostly sell to local yarn stores - Bend, Sisters, Redmond, they all have a pretty thriving tourist business and tourists love local stuff. I do private commissions for some fiber artists as well.” 

She opens the barn door, letting them into the darker area. Graeme feels like he’s starting to get a clue as to what’s going on here, but the moment they step inside, he’s immediately distracted by a display of yarn, and he makes a beeline to it, fingers already outstretched to feel it. He pulls back at the last second, looking over his shoulder. “May I?” 

Theresa grins widely. “Of course.” 

Graeme lets his fingers slide along the skein, a natural dark brown. It’s smooth, delightfully rustic against his skin. He picks it up, rubbing it on his cheek. “This is gorgeous.”

“Thanks! That’s from Scottie. She’s a Jacob sheep, you know, one of those ones with multiple sets of horns? She’s got 4 herself.”  

“Badass,” Alan says behind him.

“Pretty much. She’s great. I love this natural color so I never dye her - plus customers appear to like it that way.” 

Graeme moves on, coming to what he figures is a knitting sample to show off the yarn. It’s a small shawl, fingering weight by the looks of it, dyed in an ombre from blue to purple to pink to orange, reminding him of the sunset he saw last night. “Oh my god, I want this colorway,” he breathes. 

Theresa appears beside him, grinning. “Well, Graeme, that’s exactly what you’re here to do.” 

Graeme turns around to face Alan, hands on his hips. “Are we doing a local yarn shopping spree?” 

Alan laughs. “Not quite.” 

“This way, Graeme. Come meet one of my merinos, Dalia.” Theresa opens a stall gate, beckoning Graeme inside, where a single sheep is contentedly chewing on some feed. “Come on, come feel her.” 

Graeme steps inside, grateful now for his work boots. The sheep is impossibly soft looking, with big rolls of skin and fluff billowing around her neck like a triple chin. She’s not as soft as he expects, though, when he pats her curls on the side, considering the merino wool yarn he’s worked with before. He crouches down to her level, stroking down her nose, then looks up at Alan and Theresa. He knows his face must be a mask of childlike wonder, and he can’t resist asking, “So what are we doing here?” 

Leaning against the wall of the stall, Theresa grins. “Over the next three days, Graeme, I’m going to show you how the wool gets from this lovely lady here,” she pats Dalia’s flank, “all the way to that over there.” She points at the sunset shawl. “This is a sheep-to-shawl workshop.” 

“No shit?” Graeme asks, forgetting himself. 

Alan laughs. “Yup. And uh, I’m going to learn with you? Maybe not the knitting part, though.” 

Theresa elbows Alan in the side. “Don’t worry, I’ve got a loom already warped for you.” 

Alan’s second, way more nervous laugh is cut off when Graeme throws his arms around him, pressing their lips together fervently. “You’re right. This is way better than staying in bed and having sex.” 

He knows he didn’t speak quietly enough when Theresa laughs behind them. 

“Happy birthday, baby,” Alan murmurs to cover up the awkward silence. He kisses Graeme on the forehead, then turns him around so they’re both facing Theresa and Dalia. 

“Sorry,” Graeme says with a blush. 

Theresa shrugs it off. “This is a farm. We know about sex. Now, more importantly, how about I show you how to shear this pretty girl?” 

 

Eight hours later, he’s wet, he’s fairly sure he stinks of sheep poop and lanolin, and his hands are pruned from all the fiber washing they’ve done, but he’s also stuck with a permanent smile on his face as he and Alan join Theresa and her wife, Izzie, for a simple dinner. It’s not part of the money Alan’s paying - they’re just hospitable like that. 

With the three of them working just Dalia’s fleece, they’d been able to get through picking out all of the other, not-wool parts like hay and poop and burrs before washing the entire lot and leaving it out to dry. Theresa had assured them it would be dry by the next day because of the dry high-desert air. 

Graeme’s feels the kind of exhausted he feels at the end of a very long day at Reene’s - that is, the type of exhausted that comes from doing work he enjoys. He knows he’s mostly quiet, letting Alan and Theresa carry the conversation as he drifts in and out of it. 

They drive home just as the sunset is hitting again, and Graeme sighs. Alan glances over, then reaches for his hand. “What’s up? Did you like it?” 

He has to know the answer to that question, but Graeme obliges him anyway. “I loved it. It’s- it’s the perfect present, Alan, thank you.” 

“Got it. Happy sigh.” 

Graeme laughs, squeezing his fingers. “Happy sigh,” he confirms. “Makes me wonder how the hell we got here.” 

“Fate brought you to me right when I needed you,” Alan replies softly. 

“I think you have it backwards.” 

Alan stops the car in front of their rental, turning to face Graeme fully. He brings Graeme’s hand up for a kiss. “I’ll accept that it’s both, maybe, but not backwards.” 

He cups the back of Graeme’s neck, moving them together so he can sweep his lips over Graeme’s. Graeme sighs again, letting himself melt into the kiss. 


	4. College Sucks - rated E

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Graeme's struggling with a particularly annoying college assignment, and Alan has a suggestion. 
> 
> Tags: Dom/sub, spanking, punishment, hurt/comfort, low self-esteem, but it's always a happy ending with these guys.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm posting without editing right now, so please forgive any glaring errors that I'll fix later. Love y'all. Can't wait for this grad school shit to be over with.
> 
> Obviously this takes place sometime before Graeme graduated, so before the last few chapters.

Graeme’s eyes slide shut again, and this time it’s a few seconds, he thinks, before he’s blinking them back awake. He groans, rubbing over his eyes, cursing the blinking cursor at the end of the last line of his writing. He’s got...yep, still just one page of a four page essay to go. 

He looks over at Alan, who finished programming earlier, and is now sitting and reading - an actual paper novel, no less - while the cats cuddle with him. Graeme practically whimpers. It just looks so comfy. 

Taking a last look at his paper, he pushes up from the dining table and shuffles over to the couch, pulling up Alan’s blanket and making himself comfortable on his fiance’s side. 

He loves the way Alan’s fingers slide into his hair without a thought, soothing Graeme even as he lets his eyes slip closed at the warmth Alan is emanating. 

“Finished?” 

Graeme grunts. “No. I just need to take a short nap. Clear my mind, then I’ll get back to it. College sucks. Philosophy sucks.” Alan makes a small sound of commiseration, which bolsters Graeme to complain some more. “Chidi makes it seem so easy on The Good Place. This professor just talks me around in circles, I swear. It’s like I spent the quarter running on a hamster wheel, and that’s what this paper is shaping up to sound like. I don’t even hate writing! I liked my English classes in high school! My teacher in 11th grade was like, the only teacher who didn’t think I was worthless.” 

His fingers squeeze into Alan’s sweater at the thought, and Alan responds with a soothing sound, his fingers carding through Graeme’s hair. It’s relaxing enough that Graeme can feel his eyes slipping closed again. “And this is due tonight by midnight?” 

Graeme groans. “Yes,” he admits, the sound muffled in Alan’s side. 

“And you’ve known about it since…?”

“Last Monday,” Graeme replies, disgruntled. Fiances are supposed to back you up, no matter what.

“Can I make a suggestion?” 

“Unless that brilliant mind of yours happened to invent time travel when I was writing earlier, I don’t think anything will help.” Graeme waits a beat, then pushes himself up from his comfy position. “Even a nap.” He groans, scrubbing his hands over his face. “I can do this. I can do this. I can do this.” 

Alan follows him into the sitting position, his hand sliding behind Graeme’s head to cup the back of his neck in a way that’s instantly soothing to Graeme. Pavlovian response, maybe. Hey, look, he did learn something. No, wait, that was Psych 101. 

With his fingers firmly gripping the back of Graeme’s neck, Alan leans in, his lips grazing over Graeme’s ear. As he whispers, Graeme can feel his breath tickling in a way that makes him shiver. “I can help you focus. You’ve been a bad boy, yes? Procrastinating. I could spank you until your cheeks are red, and when you sit, you’ll be reminded of your punishment. Might help?” 

Graeme lets a breath rush out that he didn’t realize he’d been holding. He’s not sure exactly how Alan was able to diagnose the guilt he’d been feeling, curled up inside him, right next to his low self-worth, but he’s hit the nail on the head for sure. “You’re not disappointed in me?” he has to ask, because yes, there’s the self-worth, whimpering like a hurt puppy inside him. 

Alan’s fingers squeeze, soothing, even as his other hand comes around to cup Graeme’s jaw. He kisses him, slowly, sweetly, in answer. “I’m never disappointed in you, baby boy. Never ever. I just hate to see you be disappointed in yourself.” 

The way Alan is handling him, as if he could go limp right now and Alan would care for him - it makes pleasure curl in Graeme’s gut, and makes his brain go just a little floaty. He meets Alan’s searching eyes, and nods.

“Verbal, baby,” Alan gently reminds. 

Graeme pulls back, pressing up to his knees in preparation to lay himself across Alan’s lap. “I want you to punish me, Daddy. Remind me that good boys don’t procrastinate.” 

Alan’s eyes are burning, but his tone is businesslike as they run through verbal and non-verbal safe signals. The talk, which his dick knows always leads to fun times, combined with that look, is making Graeme’s cock more than half-stiff in his sweatpants, a fact which is extremely obvious to everyone in the room. Alan grins, rubbing him slowly, tortuously, just once, up and down his length, before pulling Graeme’s body down across his knee. 

“So, you knew about this six days ago, and you just started today. I think four for each day would be sufficient, don’t you agree, baby boy? Is Daddy being fair?” 

“Yes, Daddy,” Graeme replies, unable to help arching his hips a little, raising his ass in the air. 

“But first a warmup. Count for me, baby.” 

“Yes, Daddy,” he says again, breathless. 

Alan’s hand is warm through the material of his sweatpants, and when it swats down, the pants cushion most of the blow, so just a small sting zings through Graeme’s system. “One.”

That blow, and the accompanying five, are enough to wipe the sleepy cobwebs from Graeme’s brain. When Alan pulls his sweatpants and boxer briefs over the swells of his ass, exposing the surely pink flesh to air, though, anticipation courses through Graeme’s system. 

“Back at the beginning. Count and tell me why you’re being punished.” 

“Yes, Daddy.” 

Alan’s murmured, “Such a good boy for Daddy,” makes Graeme shiver. 

The first thwack of Alan’s hand takes Graeme by surprise, and he shudders as the pain radiates out from his ass cheek, even as Alan’s hand soothes over the spot immediately. “One. I should have started my essay earlier.” Another slap, in a different place. Graeme’s learned by now that he can never predict where Alan’s blows are going to land. It helps his brain let go of trying to predict the future, and just take the punishment - the please and pain - for what it is in the moment. “Two. I shouldn’t procrastinate.” 

“Good, baby boy. Very go-” The next blow comes mid-sentence, just to change things up, and Graeme gasps. 

“Three-” he says, his breath still trying to refill itself. “Three, I- I need to pass this class to graduate.” 

The next seven blows amp up the pain, now that he’s warmed up. Both he and Alan are perfectly aware he’s a masochist, but the pain of the punishment seems to be outshining the pleasure for him at the moment. Tears spring into his eyes that have nothing to do with the pain.

“Eleven,” he mumbles, the tears evident in his voice. “I- I- I- um.” A thought comes into his head, unbidden, and he doesn’t want to voice it. He can’t let it be said because then it might come true. 

Alan’s hand always rests on the spot he just slapped as he waits for Graeme’s reason, and that doesn’t change now, the silence stretching. Graeme’s brain tries to work past the terrible thought, but he can’t, it’s like he’s one of Alan’s programs stuck on a loop. His mind keeps looping back to it, and he can’t get past it, and-

“Breathe, baby, please, breathe for me.” Alan’s hand is rubbing over his t-shirt, soothing the tense muscles of his back. “Please, Graeme.” 

Graeme lets out a whooshing breath, choking in another while trying to hold back a sob. There’s a contingency for this. He knows this. He’s just not sure he deserves to color out, is the thing. But he’s been playing with Alan for so long now, it’s ingrained in him, and he mumbles out, “Yel- yellow.” 

Suddenly he’s sitting up, cradled in Alan’s arms, Alan’s calloused thumb wiping at the tears on his cheek. “You’re okay. It’s okay.” Alan’s fingers thread through his hair and press his head to Alan’s chest, where Graeme can hear Alan’s heartbeat. It’s steady, though rapid, which makes sense when your partner has just used a safe word. 

“Sorry,” Graeme offers, burying his face even further into Alan’s sweater. 

“Please don’t be sorry, baby. I love you so much. You’re perfect to me.” The words tumble out of Alan too quickly to be anything from the truth, or at least that’s what Graeme tells himself. “Can you tell me what happened so I can fix it?” 

Graeme picks at a fuzzy on Alan’s sweater, trying to steady his breath. “All I could think- all I wanted to say, all I could think of to say was how disappointing I must be to you. You support me, financially, emotionally, unconditionally, you support me, and here I am, disappointing you. It makes me want to throw up.” Unconsciously, his hand comes down to his stomach, pressing against the rolling emotions that seem to centered there. 

Alan’s lips press against his hair. “Oh, baby, I’m never disappointed in you. Never ever.” He can feel Alan’s lips lift into a smile. “I cast my lot in with yours a long time ago and I’ve never once regretted it.” 

“N-no?” It’s hard to keep the hiccupping gasp for air out of his voice. 

“Never once,” Alan reassures, his hand soothing on Graeme’s back. “I’d be a pretty big hypocrite if I was disappointed in you for procrastinating. Did I ever tell you about the correspondence course my senior year?” 

“No…”

“Yeah, I had this one one-hundred level class left that I couldn’t fit into my schedule, so I decided to do a correspondence course, and I procrastinated on it so much that I literally graduated still having to complete it. I walked in front of all of my friends and family, and then, instead of partying that night, or hell, sleeping, I completed 18 weeks of work over the course of like, 6 hours, to drop it off the next day. I haven’t told a single soul about that. My sister would kick my ass sideways, I’m sure.” 

“Oh my god, Alan,” Graeme can’t help but say, a little censure in his voice. 

“I will never, ever judge you for whatever you do with your schoolwork, baby. I have no leg to stand on.”

Graeme can hear the smile through his tone. He feels his own lips lift up, too, and realizes his heart has calmed, his breathing has normalized. “Thank you for telling me that,” he whispers, pressing a kiss to Alan’s neck that makes gooseflesh rise on Alan’s skin. 

“Well, you’re going to be my husband, so my secrets are your secrets. And I do expect you to take that to the grave, my dear.” 

Graeme laughs, leaning back to meet Alan’s eyes. He holds out his hands. “Promise.” They both smile as Alan takes it and shakes. 

They breathe together for a few moments, before Alan tips his head up to meet his eyes again. “We can keep going if you want. Now that the air is cleared. Or I can let you take your nap. Whatever you need, baby boy.” 

Graeme runs an assessment of his body. His ass cheeks pleasantly sting, but not enough to keep him focused on his work to finish this essay. It’s his heart, though, that makes the decision for him. It feels significantly lighter now that they’ve talked. “Green. Let’s keep going.” 

Alan’s eyes sparkle with happiness, even though his face remains Dom-stern. “If you take the rest of your punishment as well as you took the first part, baby boy, and if you finish your essay, I’ll reward you.” 

His voice is all dark promise, and Graeme shivers, letting himself be manipulated back over Alan’s lap. 

“Just count this time, baby boy.” 

“Yes, Daddy.” 

And even though Alan starts him back over at one, the next few minutes pass by quickly in the buzz of pain and pleasure and subspace. 

 

“I am  _ so _ leaving a note about our discussions on the course evaluation for this. My notes make absolutely no sense,” Graeme complains as Alan tinkers in the kitchen, cleaning up the dinner that Graeme had eaten while at the table, writing. And complaining. Which is perhaps why Alan just hums in agreement at this point. 

“But-” Graeme finishes typing a sentence with a flourish. “That’s the whole revision, done, looked at by your mom, all suggestions taken, ready to send.” He clicks a button. “And sent.” 

He knows he’s beaming when he looks up at Alan in the kitchen, because Alan is beaming back. He crosses over to the kitchen table and runs his fingers through Graeme’s hair. “I’m proud of you, Graeme. Good work.” 

The praise washes over Graeme, making him shiver and lean in to press a kiss to Alan’s sweater-covered stomach. Alan’s fingers tighten in Graeme’s hair, sending frissions of pleasure through him. “And now it’s time for your reward, right, baby boy?” 

“Right, Daddy.” Graeme looks up Alan’s tall body, loving the power difference the height makes. 

“What do you want?”

Graeme’s fingers linger on Alan’s hip, rubbing a circle over the fabric of the yoga pants Alan’s wearing. “What am I allowed to ask for today, Daddy?” 

Alan’s fingers leave his hair, sliding down his face until two fingers rest on his lips. Graeme obliges, letting his mouth fall open, and Alan’s fingers hook inside, waiting for Graeme to run his tongue across. “I’d let you blow me. Get me hard.” 

“Fuck me?” Graeme asks in clarification, knowing that blow jobs and penetration are two different ball games for Alan’s asexuality. 

“Mmm,” Alan says, noncommittal. “I’ll reserve that decision for later, okay?”

Graeme smiles, nodding even as he sucks on Alan’s fingers. He takes no offense. It’s not him that Alan is rejecting, should he reject penetration today, and Graeme knows that down to his very soul. He’s grateful for whatever Alan wants to do on any given day. 

“Can I suck you, Daddy, please?” he says instead, with a small whine, letting his cheek brush against Alan’s yoga pants, just over his dick. 

“Absolutely.” 

Graeme wastes no time hooking his thumbs under the waistband of Alan’s pants and dragging everything down to expose Alan’s cock. It’s only partially hard, but Graeme knows he can coax it to full attention if Alan has given him the assent to do so. He leans in, breathing the heady scent of Alan here, pressing kisses on the skin around his cock, on his hairy thighs, before centering his attention again. Graeme starts slowly, taking just the tip into his mouth and rolling his tongue around it. He knows he’s doing well because Alan’s fingers slide into his hair again and grip it tightly. 

With Alan’s hand holding the weight of his head, Graeme lets his eyes fall closed and just slides into the beginnings of subspace, his happy place, Alan’s cock growing thicker on his tongue, filling his mouth. Using him to get hard. It makes him rock in his chair, trying to get friction on his own cock. All he accomplishes is a jolting reminder that his ass still stings from the spanking earlier, but that’s enough to satisfy him too. 

He’s not quite sure how long they stay at that rhythm, Alan’s hand guiding him to bob on his hardening cock, Graeme rocking against the pain in his ass again and again to feel the sparks of pleasure shoot up his spine. Alan’s praise-  _ just like that, yes, baby boy, you’re so good, fuck- _ falls on his ears, sends him deeper. He wishes he could spend the rest of the night sucking Alan’s cock. God, he’d fucking kneel at Alan’s feet all day if he could. 

His blood flashes heat, thinking of sitting, tucked beneath Alan’s desk at work while Alan clacks away at the keyboard, keeping his cock warm while he has a conversation with Mal or talks on the phone. Graeme’s hole clenches down around nothing at the thought. He groans around Alan’s cock, moving faster, going harder, giving it his everything. 

He’s shocked back to consciousness a little when Alan pulls him off, a string of saliva connecting Graeme’s swollen lips to his now-hard, leaking cock. “So good for me,” Alan growls. 

Graeme’s rapt on his every word, so lost in subspace that all he can do is look up at his Daddy and beg silently for more. More praise. More cock. More anything. 

Alan seems to know exactly what he wants, though, pulling him up to his feet and turning him around to face the table. “Show me that ass, baby boy.”

Graeme goes down on his elbows, cheating his ass up into the air with an arch of his back so Alan can pull his pants down. The coolness of the apartment soothes some of the ache, as does Alan’s reverent hand as he caresses Graeme’s cheeks. 

There’s a shuffling behind him, and then Alan’s lube-slick fingers are pressing inside him, giving him a cursory stretch - Alan fucked him with a huge dildo just last night, and he’s still a little loose, still a little sore in the best way possible. “Yes, fuck, Daddy, yes, fuck me, please, fuck me,” Graeme begs, pressing his forehead against the table. 

With just that preparation, Graeme feels the head of Alan’s cock begin to press at his hole, and he relaxes, sighing, satisfied that he’s getting what he wants. Alan’s hand presses down on his back as he slides in, holding them both steady. And when Alan hits home, his balls resting against Graeme’s ass, they both sigh, relieved, living in the quiet of that particular moment. 

The moment doesn’t last, of course. Graeme arches, trying to take Alan in further, and in retaliation, Alan presses Graeme down hard, sliding out, then slamming home again to show his dominance, to quiet any notion Graeme might have of controlling this fucking. 

Graeme moans, relaxing into the table, happy to let his Daddy fuck him however he wants. And apparently tonight, Alan wants slow and excruciating and tortuous. He pulls Graeme up to his tip toes as he slowly drags himself out against Graeme’s prostate, then slides back in again. The speed - or lack thereof - has Graeme panting, pressing his forehead against the table to relieve something, anything. His fingers scrabble at the wood, unable to catch hold, until his fingers ache. 

And then, Alan stops moving at all, just holding himself balls-deep in Graeme and moving his hips in little circles. Graeme can’t help clenching down around him, feeling the whole solid length of Alan inside him, burning hot and perfect. Behind him, Alan grunts, thrusting again, then holding, teasing, edging Graeme until he can’t see straight. He knows he’s a sweating, moaning, begging mess, and he loves every fucking second. 

“God, your fucking ass,” Alan mumbles, hunching over Graeme and going harder, shaking the table with each thrust. His hands grip Graeme’s hips, enough that he’s sure he’ll have bruises that will make him hard whenever he sees them in the mirror until they fade. 

“Daddy- Daddy- Daddy-” 

Biting down onto his lip, euphoria starts to spread through Graeme’s body, centered around his belly, as Alan works him harder and harder. On a particularly rough thrust, Graeme’s dick slides against the bottom edge of the table, giving him enough stimulation to come, splattering against the floor. He squeezes down on Alan again and again, until Alan groans and spills inside him. 

Alan collapses over him for just a moment, catching his breath and pressing kisses to his neck. Praise floats down through Graeme’s euphora, making his toes curl with pleasure at pleasing his Dom. He’s fairly sure he answers a color check with a mumbled ‘green’ before he really even floats back up from subspace, because when he really comes to, he’s already clean and in Alan’s arms in bed. 

Alan’s eyes are closed, but Graeme can tell from his breathing that he’s not quite asleep yet. He turns their positions, or rather, Alan lets him, lets Graeme be the big spoon cuddling up behind his lumberjack body. Graeme’s arm comes around Alan’s waist and rests on his stomach. He presses a kiss behind Alan’s ear, liking the feeling Alan shivering against him. 

“That was wonderful, Alan, thank you. For everything.” 

He feels Alan’s body slip into relaxation finally, knowing that Graeme’s back from subspace and happy, and that he did well as a Dom. Graeme tells him so anyway, murmuring in his ear about how good he is for Graeme.

They drift off to sleep like that, wrapped in each other, Graeme halfway through telling Alan exactly how much he loves him. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this came to mind yesterday as I was writing two awful papers for a class that the discussions seemed like being on hamster wheels. Would that I had an Alan to keep me nice and distracted and then focused and then rewarded. Although I did take my ace/aro self to see Spider-Man as a reward for finishing my rough drafts.


	5. On Edge - rated E

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In an bondage-under-clothing, sex toy-under-clothing scene, Alan keeps Graeme on edge.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Vitalproximity commented that they'd love to see another bondage scene, and then Dragon_Oppa helped me brainstorm ideas until we hit upon one of my greatest kinks, which is the semi-public exhibitionism of bondage and sex toys under clothing, worn out and about. 
> 
> I just wrote 4.8k about it in like, four hours, so. O.O
> 
> Not very well edited, probably, as I'm trying to get this published before Dragon_Oppa goes to bed, so let me know about any horrible typos.

Sometimes, before a scene, Graeme likes to sit on the couch, earbuds in his ears, rain sounds on, maybe petting one of the cats, maybe knitting, just trying to give Alan a blank slate to work with. 

He hadn’t had a particularly stressful day at work. Reene’s business is expanding, but they have a handle on it, for now. He’s done with school. He’s almost done with the big hat order Sam had tasked him with a few months ago, which means he’ll be able to take on a least one other paid knitting project before Christmas, and someone had come in during knitting night and the shop and asked, and he has her contact info in his phone. 

So no, he’s not particularly stressed, but then again, the white noise of the rain sounds are always helpful before a scene, no matter how well his meds are working. 

Because otherwise the anticipation would be killing him right now. 

Alan knows how impatient Graeme can be when he’s in his Baby Boy headspace, and he’d sent Graeme out here while he gets ready, and the rain sounds are  _ just _ doing the job of making Graeme not shake out of his skin in anticipation of the upcoming scene. 

Hands smooth over his shoulders and down his front, and then Alan’s bearded cheek is nestled against his, his arms hugging Graeme from behind the couch. Graeme takes out the earbuds, his heart thudding with excitement, and turn his head to look at his Dom. 

“I’m all ready, Baby Boy. Are you?” 

Just the sound of Alan’s soft Dom voice murmuring in his ear makes Graeme go hard, which means this is going to be an especially excruciating night. God, he’s so fucking easy for his Daddy. 

“Yes, Daddy. Green.” 

Alan’s lips press against his briefly. “Great.”

He comes around, pulling Graeme up from the couch and into his arms. He reaches down, stroking over Graeme’s ass. “And just so you know. I’m NC-17 tonight.” 

Graeme shivers, nodding his thanks for Alan’s heads up. NC-17 means Graeme’s totally getting fucked with his Daddy’s cock tonight. Anticipation zings adrenaline through his veins. 

Alan takes his hand and leads him back to the bedroom, where their supplies for the evening are all set out. “Now, let me see my beautiful canvas,” he murmurs with a tug on the hem of Graeme’s shirt. Pliant, Graeme lets him tug it off and toss it to the hamper. His pants and boxer briefs are dispatched just as quickly, and there Graeme is, naked before his Daddy, cock straining already, when Alan’s fully clothed. It’s the sort of power dynamic that makes Graeme  _ high. _

“Good boy. So pretty for me.” Alan continues to whisper praise at him as he runs his hands all over Graeme’s body, warming his skin up, making it feel alive. When Alan wraps his big arms around Graeme in a comforting hug, Graeme melts into it, hugging back with everything he has even as Alan’s hands work over his back. “Such a good Baby Boy.” 

“Thank you Daddy,” Graeme rasps. 

If he had his druthers, Graeme would sink to his knees for Daddy right now, maybe take out his cock and keep it warm for awhile, spend the rest of the evening perfectly content to be at Alan’s feet, naked and willing. 

That’s not the scene they’ve planned, though, and Graeme had been so excited during the negotiation process that Alan had had to pause and stroke him off so he’d concentrate. 

Alan color checks him again as he picks up the bundle of black silk rope, gets a green affirmative. 

Graeme loves the process of getting tied up. Loves watching Alan concentrate, his brow furrowing when something goes wrong and then smoothing out again when he fixes the placement or the knot or whatever. It’s a nice, quiet time for Graeme’s mind, his attention solely on his Dom so that he can answer all his questions and color checks promptly. 

Tonight, it’s a body harness, less elaborate than some of the ties Darwin has worked with them on. It’s meant for a very specific purpose: it’s going to give Graeme enough flexibility and movement that he’ll be able to wear it under clothing without anyone else - besides Alan - knowing the wiser. 

Alan starts with the chest harness, making sure all of the rope stays well away from Graeme’s neck. As his looks back at the instructions on his phone, and then again at Graeme’s body, he murmurs distractedly, “Tell me about your day, baby. Did you have a good one?” 

Keeping Graeme talking is a way of checking on him, too, Graeme knows, so he just starts going through his day from start to finish. He worries briefly that he might be babbling, but Alan looks at him with such pride and happiness as he works the ropes down Graeme’s body, diamonding over his torso, who could worry? Not even Graeme’s overactive brain. 

Graeme shuffles his feet apart a little as Alan finishes up the harness with a set of ropes that come around his cock and balls, acting as a cock ring, then joining to come up his crack like a thong, knotting right over his hole, and tying off at his waist. 

“How does everything feel? Test it out for me, baby.” 

Alan watches as Graeme tests everything, going down into a squat, kneeling, sitting on the bed. “Anything chafing? Rubbing the wrong way? How’s the knot on your hole feel?” 

“Everything’s green, Daddy. The knot feels like torture, though,” he replies with a wry twist of lips. 

“Perfect.” Alan’s answering grin is delicious, and he pulls Graeme in by his chest harness to kiss him, making Graeme sigh and melt into the bondage. God, he loves being pulled around by his Daddy. “If anything feels tingly or numb or off in any way, you let me know right away, Baby Boy.” 

“Yes, Daddy.” 

“The knot feels like torture, huh?” 

“When I sat on the bed, yeah, Daddy,” Graeme answers with a laugh. “Can’t imagine what it’ll feel like sitting at the restaurant.” 

Alan hums, looking thoughtful. “You don’t know why the knot’s there, do you, Baby Boy?” 

The thing is,  _ Graeme  _ does. They’d talked over every aspect of this. But Graeme’s left  _ Graeme  _ far behind, and Baby Boy has no fucking clue. He shakes his head innocently. 

Alan reaches for something on the bed behind him. A turquoise silicone plug Graeme hasn’t seen before, decently sized. “It’s to make sure this stays in, right snug over your prostate when you sit.” Alan’s dark voice makes Graeme groan. “Turn around and bend over the bed for me like a good boy. Perfect,” he says when Graeme complies. 

Graeme lets his fingers sink into the bedspread, stabilizing him, giving him some solid point of reference as his Daddy’s lube-slick fingers rub at his rim and stretch him open. He feels the knot rub against his rim again as it’s moved aside, and then the thick bulb of the plug is being worked into his hole. He groans, relaxing, arching his back to take it. Alan’s hand is warm on the small of his back as he talks him through it, praising how well he takes it, then fucking him with the plug at its thickest point. Finally, he lets it sink into Graeme, lets Graeme’s hole close back around it. The knot snaps back into place, directly under the flared base of the plug where it will tease Graeme all night. 

“God, I could fuck you right now.” Alan presses his clothed cock against Graeme’s ass, showing Graeme he’s already partially hard even as he rubs the knot and plug so that the plug rocks against Graeme’s prostate. “But,” and he pulls away, leaving Graeme moaning in disappointment, “what would be the fun in that? Stand up for me and turn around, Baby Boy. Time to get you dressed.” 

Alan does this efficiently and all businesslike, as if Graeme weren’t all tied up, hole open and teased, before him. He has Graeme step into fresh boxer-briefs and pulls those up, checking the ropes with the tightness of the briefs over them. He helps Graeme into the dress pants, with a warning: “Now, Baby Boy, I don’t want you to ruin these. You’re going to have to control yourself.” 

The rope is already acting as an effective cockring, and Graeme’s no longer hard, but he swallows nervously anyway and nods. Alan looks sternly at him. “You know the punishment for boys who come in their pants.” 

Graeme shivers, involuntarily clenching his ass cheeks. “Yes, Daddy.” 

Alan slips a tank top over his head so the ropes don’t show, then buttons up his dress shirt, making sure the lock of Graeme’s white gold collar is centered above his heart. The small gesture almost undoes Graeme, his love for this man swamping him all at once. Alan seems to recognize it, because he drops the valet act for a second and presses a short, sweet kiss to Graeme’s lips. “I love you,” he whispers.

“I love you,” Graeme has to whisper back. He watches as Alan buttons up the last bit of the shirt so that his collar is hidden, then pulls out a lovely turquoise blue silk tie. Graeme grins. “I’m matching. It’s perfect, Daddy.” 

Alan smiles as he concentrates on tying the Windsor. He tightens it, but not too far. “How is that? Too tight?” 

“It feels good.” 

“You’ll still be presentable without it if at any point it feels like it’s choking you, Baby Boy.” 

Yeah, Graeme’s really fucking in love with this man. “Green, Daddy. Thank you for checking.” 

“Absolutely my pleasure. Now, can you be a good boy and sit on the bed while Daddy gets ready?” 

“Yes, Daddy.” 

He sits, having somehow forgotten about the bondage, the knot, the plug. It hits him all at once, the way his body movement is a little restricted, the way the silk rubs over his skin, the way the plug presses into his prostate to send pleasure radiating through his belly, the way the ropes keep his dick from getting hard. “Ohhhhhh,” he sighs, grabbing the edge of the mattress and gripping it hard. Ohhhhh, tonight is going to be  _ good. _

Alan smirks at him even as he strips himself just as efficiently as he’d stripped Graeme earlier. It’s not a hard task to watch his Daddy get undressed and then ready for a night on the town. Every bit of the ‘show’ makes Graeme  _ want. _ He wants to sink his teeth into the skin just there at his lower torso, right where the waistband of his boxer briefs lay. He wants to run his mouth up Alan’s strong back before it gets covered by his tank. He wants to suck a mark under the collar of the button up. 

He surprised when Alan sinks to his knees before him, but it’s only so he can slip on Graeme’s dress socks and shoes. He sits beside Graeme on the bed to pull on his own, and then he’s pulling Graeme up, slipping him into a suit jacket, and doing a final inspection. “You look perfect. How does everything feel?” 

Graeme may look perfect, but Alan’s  _ mouthwatering _ like this, that whole geekster-lumberjack vibe all bundled up in an extremely well-tailored gray suit. Graeme wants to submit to him all over again. Maybe roleplay late night CEO and lowly janitor or something. “Oh, Daddy,” he manages, breathless. 

Alan smirks, his hand coming to rest at the small of Graeme’s back to guide them toward the door of the apartment. “I asked you a question, baby.” 

“So fucking green.” Graeme’s already breathless. Walking with the plug is- no, walking with the harness is- no, walking on his Daddy’s arm is- well, he can’t really decide what the best part of this is. 

They hold hands in the elevator like the major saps that they are, and Graeme can’t help but watch his Daddy’s face reverently. Love and trust and lust all bound up into one, giddy ball of emotion that seems to settle in his stomach, fluttering there like a whole room of butterflies. 

The elevator stops halfway down to pick up another well-dressed couple, and Alan and Graeme give them the ‘we’re neighbors even though we don’t know each other’s names’ nod, and their presence for those precious few moments intensifies everything for Graeme. The idea that he’s- that _they’re_ doing all this, doing a scene, that he’s got a plug up his ass  _ right now, _ and they’re unaware, makes him want to whimper. He holds it in, barely. 

Alan helps him sit carefully in the Tesla, but doesn’t start driving right away. “There’s one more thing, Baby Boy.” He taps his phone on the dash, opening up an app Graeme doesn’t see the name of. 

It’s a simple layout, just a series of plus and minus buttons, and one that seems to be a timer. Graeme arches a brow at Alan in a ‘what’s up’ gesture. “Tap the plus,” Alan says, his face barely containing his grin. 

Graeme taps the button, and immediately gasps, his hand flying out to grip at the car door. The plug has vibrated to life in his hole, and in his current sitting position, that means it’s vibrating right against his prostate. He gets his breathing under control even as the torture continues, though he takes a second to appreciate how quiet the plug is. He can’t hear anything, just feel the buzzing. When Alan taps the minus button, Graeme sags into the seat, huffing out a breath. It’s dark in the parking garage, but Alan’s eyes seem to be all pupil, and Graeme knows his must be the same. 

“Color?” 

Graeme lets out a breathy laugh. “So fucking green.” 

Alan laughs, leaning over to slide their lips together. “Then let’s go to dinner. I think you’re really going to love this place, Baby Boy.” 

The way Graeme’s feeling, he’s not even sure he’ll  _ remember _ the restaurant. 

Alan continues to torture him with the vibe, a block on, a block off, so Graeme  _ groans _ when there’s a red light and he’s stuck on ‘on.’ It’s the longest car ride he thinks he’s ever endured, but he’s on an ‘off’ cycle when they pull up to the restaurant. 

After Alan pulls into the parking spot, he squeezes Graeme’s hand. “Okay, so public safewords,” Alan reminds him. “What’s your word if you need a break?” 

“Tacoma.” 

“And if you need us to stop? I’ll take you to the bathroom right away and we will fix or adjust whatever needs fixing, and then we’ll go from there, what word for that?” 

“Portland.” It’s Graeme’s own joke, that going farther south meant higher safewords. 

“Perfect.” Alan cups his cheek, and kisses his forehead tenderly. “Just remember, even though I won’t call you Baby Boy in there, you’re still my Baby Boy, now and forever, and nothing will change that.” 

Graeme melts, and he tips his head to brush his lips over Alan’s. “Same goes, Daddy. Best Daddy. I love you.” 

With a brief final kiss, Alan’s up and out of the car, helping Graeme out his side in another moment. 

Alan wraps one arm around Graeme’s waist as they walk up to the maitre d’ station, his other hand fiddling in his pants pocket. Graeme finds out what he’s fiddling with almost immediately when the plug buzzes to life just as the host greets them warmly. 

“Your requested table is right this way, sirs.” 

Alan keeps the fucking vibe on all the way through the restaurant until they’re seated in a back booth. Graeme can see immediately why he requested it: the booth means they can sit side-by-side, which means there’s nothing to stop Alan from torturing him the entire meal with sly touches; and the back corner means they can go about mostly undetected. They’re also very near the restrooms. Really, his Daddy thinks of everything. 

Mercifully, Alan turns the vibe off as they sit, so Graeme can adjust himself without coming in his pants. The ropes tend to make that an impossibility but honestly, Graeme’s never felt more turned on before, and they’ve barely begun. 

Alan sets his phone on the table, the nondescript vibe app open so Graeme can see it. He slips his arm around Graeme’s waist, molding their bodies together, and then starts perusing the menu. Water is served right away, and Graeme takes some, his hand shaking the ice in the glass. He takes a sip, shivering at Alan’s praise for staying hydrated. 

Alan keeps whispering in his ear. Filthy things. How hard he’s going to fuck Graeme tonight. How hard he is, thinking about how everyone in the restaurant has no idea what a dirty, filthy,  _ perfect _ sub Graeme is. He may not be hitting the vibe but he doesn’t let up with the dirty talk until their waiter comes to take their order. All business, Alan orders for the both of them, the power play making Graeme’s knees shake. 

Alan’s fingers slide over to his phone, and Graeme’s body tenses in anticipation. He strokes over the sides of the phone, then taps his fingers on the table beside it, knowing that everything in Graeme has come to attention, building anticipation. “You know,” he murmurs casually. “This is the lowest setting.” With a flick of his fingers, finally,  _ finally _ the vibe returns. It's not as intense as before, though it still sends pleasant shock waves through his body. “How long do you think you can keep it there? The rest of the meal?” 

Graeme’s eyes bug out in his head, and he bites down on his lip, rocking the plug, trying to get it anywhere but  _ right on his fucking prostate. _ “Sure,” he says with way more confidence than he feels. 

The thing is, Alan keeps peppering him with questions about work, or asking his opinion on birthday presents for the twins, or talking about wedding plans, the eternal struggle that is wedding plans. All the same mundane, lovely stuff they talk about when they’re out on a normal date. 

The fact that Graeme is riding wave after wave of pleasure from the vibrating plug makes him slide so fucking deep into subspace, he doesn’t even know how he’s responding verbally. 

Too bad Alan is treating him to a freaking three course meal. The appetizer - what is essentially a fancy Caprese salad - arrives in no time, it seems like, Alan feeding him when Graeme doesn’t want to let his iron grip of the table edge go. It’s the only thing grounding him, he swears. 

Casually, Alan flicks his fingers again, and the vibe gets slightly more intense. 

“How many settings are there?” Graeme asks, his voice sounding breathless and broken. 

“Ten.” 

Graeme may let out a very inappropriate sound at that point, and Alan laughs, sweeping his fingers over Graeme’s fade and bringing him in for a chaste, very appropriate for public, kiss. “Don’t worry, baby. You’re doing such a good job. You’re going to ride level two out until we’re done with the main course, and then level three for dessert, got it?” 

Graeme hums, letting his eyes close as his fingers tremble. 

“Do you have a city name you want to tell me?” 

“No.” Graeme shakes his head. “No. Nooooo.” It’s soft, his protest, but he can’t talk without letting out some of the pent up desire that’s built up inside him. “You’re so evil, Da- Alan.” 

Alan smirks, his hand coming down, squeezing Graeme’s thigh. “And you’re magnificent. I always wonder how far I can push you, and just when I think I’ve reached your limit, you prove me wrong. Every time.” His hand brushes over Graeme’s back now, reminding Graeme of the harness holding him. “You know, I knew it, when I first took you down, I knew you’d be the sweetest little sub I ever played with. And you are. All mine, so sweet. God, I can’t wait to sink into you.” 

Graeme’s breath whooshes out in a gust. “Then you should’ve taken us to McDonald's. You’d be balls deep in me already by now.” 

Alan’s laugh is loud, drawing attention from a couple of other tables nearby. Alan nods at them apologetically, and they turn back to their own meals. “You’re such a  _ brat,” _ he whispers, right in Graeme’s ear. “Just for that..” 

Alan’s fingers tap, and the vibe starts pulsing at a higher setting. “Just for thirty seconds. So brats know what happens when they have a smart mouth.” 

Graeme reaches down, taking Alan’s hand and squeezing. He closes his eyes, and it takes all of his power to one, not come despite the rope, and two, keep a calm expression on his face. 

The vibe goes back down just as their main courses arrive. Graeme’s hands are positively shaking as he attempts to cut his steak, but it’s useless, his steak knife clattering down to his plate. 

“Guess I’m going to have to feed you,” Alan says with a small tsk. 

_ Oh god, put me out of my misery now, _ Graeme thinks, looking at his Daddy, his Dom, his provider, and sinking ever lower as Alan controls even the amount of food he eats, and when. 

The steak is probably really good. Graeme had peeked for prices before, and it’s one of those places that doesn’t have them on the menu. For all Graeme knows, he’s wasting Wagyu right now, though some part of him knows Alan wouldn’t do that to him. Whatever he eats, he’s sure it’s good, but he doesn’t taste a bite of it. His sole attention is on Alan’s face, the pleasure in Alan’s eyes. He looks so happy, and that’s Graeme that did that.

It’s so much, this feeling of warmth from making his Dom happy,  _ and _ the waves of desire swamping him from his prostate out. It’s so much good all at once, Graeme’s having a hard time processing it all. It’s like- like he reaches a higher plane, a plateau where all of it, all the pleasure, all the happiness, it’s just a baseline from which he can go  _ flying. _

Plates are cleared away, and Graeme looks at Alan, expectant. “Magnificent,” Alan says again, kissing his forehead. He turns the vibe up to level three. 

Graeme moans, then changes it quickly to a cough when someone nearby looks at them. Alan brings his water glass to his lips, and he sips gratefully as Alan makes some excuse for him with their table neighbors and pats his back like he inhaled food or something. 

“So close, baby. You’re almost there. Just a little bit more for me.” 

Graeme nods, his hand clutched on Alan’s knee. “Talk to me,” he says, trying to keep his voice from a whine. 

He doesn’t know how Alan does it. He doesn’t know how Alan’s able to keep up this inane conversation with a partner that’s basically nonverbal and never run out of topics. He doesn’t know how Alan isn’t shaking apart with desire. 

It's at that exact moment that Barbie- well, Krista, probably, right now - walks up on them. "Alan, Graeme! My boys! How are you?" 

Alan pops up, leaning down to greet Krista with two cheek kisses. "We're wonderful. Are you on a date?" 

"Yeah," Krista says unenthusiastically, waving a dismissive hand behind her. "I don't think he's getting a second. I don't think Barbie'd like him." 

Graeme tries to nod sympathetically, his cheeks burning with embarrassment even as the plug continues to vibrate away. Since public embarrassment just tends to send him deeper, he shakes, feeling like he needs to dunk his head in a bucket of ice water. 

Krista's keen eyes take in all of him, though, and she arches a brow at Alan. 

"You'll have to forgive Graeme. He's a little occupied at the moment." Casually, Alan bumps the vibe back to pulse, the sadist. 

Graeme grips the table, shuddering, even as understanding dawns in Krista's eyes. She turns to Alan. "May I?" 

This- this is a kink in the plans, as it were, though not an unpleasant one. Still, Alan looks to Graeme for confirmation. "Graeme? City?" 

Graeme shakes his head, so Alan nods at Krista - well, now Barbie, he supposes, because she's got her Domme look in her eyes, all bright and hot. She slides in beside him at the booth, using a hug as an excuse to purr into his ear, "You're doing such a good job for your Daddy. Keep up the good work." 

With that, she's gone, kissing Alan on the cheek once more, and Alan shows him mercy, turning the vibe off pulse. When Alan joins him again, he gives him a slightly-less appropriate for public kiss. "I love you." 

Graeme nods back, nonverbal for the moment.

“The chocolate hazelnut cake, sirs.” 

“Thank you so much.” Alan’s voice is polite yet commanding to the waiter, betraying  _ nothing.  _

The smoothness of the chocolate ganache, the crunch of the hazelnuts, the sweetness of the chocolate sauce all hit Graeme’s palate at once as Alan feeds him the perfect bite, and Graeme’s not sure he’s ever going to be able to think about chocolate again without getting painfully hard. 

In a subspace haze, Graeme thinks they finish the dessert. He doesn’t quite remember. He just remembers Alan helping him up out of the booth, his legs wobbling, shaking. He remembers Alan slipping him back into his suit jacket. He remembers waiting while Alan’s credit card is processed. He leans against the wall, anticipation rising in his stomach.

Alan pierces him with a  _ look _ and the butterflies return, all fluttery and wonderful in his stomach. 

On the street, Graeme leans into Alan like he’s had too much to drink, even though the only thing he had all night was water. Still, it doesn’t look suspicious, and Graeme catches more than one polite, laughing smile as they walk by strangers. 

“Daddy,” he whines, when they’re finally back alone in the Tesla. 

“Yes Baby Boy?” 

_ “Daddy-”  _ Graeme slips on his seatbelt, then grinds against the plug, trying anything to send him over the edge he’s been sitting on for what feels like decades. 

“Gotta be a good boy for me, Baby Boy. Good boys get fucked. Bad boys go to bed aching.” 

The thought of being sent to bed like this, filled with want and desire and with no place for it to go, has Graeme groaning, tears prickling at his eyes now that they’re not in public anymore. 

“Such a good boy,” Alan murmurs, and now he sounds breathy and on edge too. Graeme wants to smirk, would smirk if it were a possibility right now. Daddy wants this just as much as he does. It’s extremely gratifying. 

The ride is a blur, the stand out moments when Alan turns the pulse back on and Graeme shouts out his pleasure, the sound echoing in the car. No one on the street can hear it. Graeme wants to  _ commmmmmme. _

In the elevator, they’re alone, and Alan crowds Graeme to the wall, kissing below his ear. He doesn’t do more - it would be inappropriate in public, and there’s a camera in the elevator - but he keeps up that filthy whispering from before. 

Every step to the apartment builds the anticipation. Graeme’s practically trembling with it. He feels like the butterflies in his stomach could completely float him away. He’s not even sure how he gets from point A to point B. 

He just knows that point B means fucking. Point B means release, hard fought and won. 

Point B means- 

Apparently Alan’s point B is the front door, because once it’s closed behind them, Graeme’s flipped around and shoved against it, his cheek resting against the cold hardwood. In a moment, Alan’s got Graeme’s pants and boxer briefs around his ankles; in the next, the rope harness tie around his waist is undone, the knot released, the plug perfunctorily shut down, slipped out, and tossed aside. 

The rip of the lube packet is the only other warning Graeme gets before Alan’s surging inside of him. They both groan, Alan’s hand coming up to the door to steady himself as he sinks completely inside Graeme’s hole. Balls deep, as Graeme had said earlier. 

With the waist part of the harness loosened, the ropes around his cock stop holding back his erection, and within seconds, Graeme is painfully hard, leaking, his cock popping up to slide against his button up.

Well, until Alan basically rips the button up off of him anyway, his mouth going immediately to the skin above the tank top on his neck and sucking a mark there. His lips glide over Graeme’s collar, and he thrusts hard, murmuring, “Mine.” 

“Yours, Daddy, yours,” Graeme agrees, clutching at the door. Alan’s hand drops to his front, holding one of the diamond rope formations to keep him steady as he begins fucking, long and deep. 

Graeme drops his forehead to the door, the silk rope pulling at his skin. Everything is sensitized, his body trembling, shivering with feeling. “Daddy, please, pleeease let me come, please.” 

Alan’s lips are latched onto his neck but he breaks away, nibbling on Graeme’s ear. “Anytime you want, sweet Baby Boy. So fucking good for me, so tight. Love you so much. Come.” 

With a strangled cry, Graeme breaks free of the plateau and swan dives off the cliff to his orgasm. It reverberates through him, pleasure chasing through his veins and arteries, the hairs on his arm standing on end. It’s such a sweet release of everything that’s built up, Graeme collapses against the door, quivering on Alan’s cock, utterly spent. 

With a shout, Alan spills inside him, hugging Graeme tightly as he rides out his orgasm. 

They’re a mess in a way Graeme doesn’t even want to catalog, so he doesn’t, he just lets his eyes slip closed as he floats. Alan’s arms around his waist means he won’t float away. 

 

When he comes to again, he’s naked, cuddled up against Alan in bed. Alan’s slowly rubbing lotion into the light marks the rope left on him. 

“Hey, sweetheart, welcome back.” Alan kisses him sweetly on the cheek before resuming his ministrations. 

Graeme pauses Alan’s hand, then pulls Alan down for a long, slow, sweet kiss. “I love you. That was wonderful. I love you.” 

Smiling, Alan kisses Graeme’s cheek. “I meant every bit of it, you know. You’re magnificent.” 

Warm, content, Graeme smiles back. “I know. I trust you, completely, and you never break that trust, so I know.” 

Alan relaxes, settling into the aftercare. Graeme knows he always worries after, and he’s happy to provide Alan that reassurance when Alan gives him so much. 

When Alan’s satisfied with Graeme’s skin, Graeme coaxes him down into being little spoon. He sighs happily, curled around Alan, and with a last whispered set of “I love you”s, they both fall quickly into sleep. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As you can see, sometimes suggestions really set me off, so if you have more, let me know!
> 
> I'm probably going to get around to getting them married at some point, but also, I feel like Graeme already feels committed to Alan, wearing his collar.


	6. At Tommy's Place - rated T

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Graeme is helping to cater a staff lunch at Tommy's Place and meets someone he didn't expect.
> 
> CW: Panic attack, Graeme has a flashback to the car accident.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I mentioned to dragon_oppa last night that I've never established Istvan's job, and this is what came of the conversation. I wanted to reference his job in the Play Dates fic so I needed to establish this first. 
> 
> Chronologically, this takes place directly after With Kink in Mind Part 5: Springtime Wrap Up. So, Graeme hasn't yet graduated (is still in his first year), and Tommy's Place opened a few months previous. 
> 
> Also VitalProximity had suggested Graeme's perspective on Tommy's Place and while this isn't a complete look - I think I want Graeme to volunteer there - this is a first look.

Graeme lingers at the door, his hands tucked in fingerless gloves, a scarf wrapped firmly around his neck to fight off the unexpectedly chilly April rain. He lingers because currently, his mouth is occupied, giving Alan a long kiss before they part for the day. His boyfriend/fiance is just as occupied, running his hands over Graeme’s ass and pulling him closer. 

“You’re sure you’re not coming to the thing I’m helping cater at Tommy’s Place today?” 

Alan kisses the side of his mouth, then his nose. “Yeah. It’s just the monthly staff meeting. If I’m there, it looks like I don’t trust Gustavo to manage his own people. They see me there in other capacities all the time, but I need Gustavo to be the one in charge, and if I’m there, that’s not the impression people get.” 

“Sensible,” Graeme complains, smiling a little when Alan laughs and leans in for another kiss. “I guess I’ll see you after class, then.” He frowns for effect, then yelps when Alan gooses his ass playfully. 

“I was thinking about throwing together a salad for dinner?” 

“Alan Garry, you  _ do _ know the way to a man’s heart. What about salmon Caesar? If you could pick up…” 

The rest of the conversation passes in domestic happiness, despite Alan’s fingers still firmly holding onto Graeme’s ass. 

 

The staff meeting is a buffet affair, so after Reene and he get their orders done for the day, they head to Tommy’s Place to set up. He’s been here before, of course, but always on Alan’s arm, and therefore always a little detached, because while Alan does get down to the nitty gritty with the center, he doesn’t tend to when Graeme’s there. 

Traffic made them a little late, so setting up is done in a flurry, but they manage to have everything ready to go when Gustavo comes in to set up the tech part of the meeting. He greets Reene with a kiss on the cheek, and shakes Graeme’s hand. Graeme doesn’t know Gustavo very well, but anyone who Alan and Reene approve of has to climb pretty high on his list. 

“I can handle clean up, if you want to take off. I know you have afternoon class and a long bus ride.” Reene uses a towel to clean up the edge on a bowl of salad dressing - a curry vinaigrette. 

“Yeah, I should get going. You’re good? Nothing you want me to pop out and get and bring back?” 

Reene nudges him on the shoulder in the direction of the door. “Go. Education is important, and you’re not failing your first year just because I kept you.  _ Go.” _

Graeme raises his hands in defense, grinning. “I’m going!” 

As he walks out the door, he checks the time on his phone, trying to calculate if he has enough time to stop downtown and surprise Alan with a fast lunch, sans any funny business that would make him late. It’s probably  _ just _ doable, he thinks, still looking down at his phone and slamming right into a large body. 

“Oh my god, I’m so sorry, I shouldn’t text and drive,” Graeme starts immediately, his cheeks going red at the thought that he literally  _ ran into _ someone who’s doing such good work for his boyfriend. He finishes his apology with his head ducked, not even wanting to look the person in the face. 

“It’s okay,  _ csillagom.”  _ Familiar arms wrap him up in a hug, and Graeme finally looks up to see István smiling down at him. 

Graeme’s seen him in his work uniform before, but seeing him in the scrubs always makes Graeme do a double take when he’s used to István’s more flamboyant style. His hair is pulled back from his unpainted face in a simple ponytail, and there’s no glitter in sight. It’s always weird to see István in his work context even when he knows how much István loves working as a nurse. Graeme’s heartrate kicks up for either anxiety or excitement, so he figures it must be the latter.  


“What’re you doing here?” Graeme manages to ask once he’s settled down a bit. 

Amazingly, it’s István who blushes this time. “Remember when I told you and Alan a couple of months ago that I was working at a new clinic?” He spreads his arms out, taking in Tommy's Place. “Here’s the new clinic.” 

The health clinic at Tommy's Place acts as a combination of urgent care, testing, and education for teens and families. Even if Graeme would have shied away from some of the other activities at Tommy's Place, he thinks he would have come to a health clinic that was known for being open minded about the sexuality spectrum. 

Graeme feels his eyes widen. “But that’s so cool! What’re you doing? Why’d you keep it a secret?”

István’s arms come up to fold over his chest nervously. “It’s...I applied on a lark, you know. I figured they’d reject me, I’m not done with my masters, and that’s what they were asking for for the position, but... And then when I got the call for the interview, I wanted to make sure that I got the job on my own merits, you know? Not because I have a  _ close, personal _ relationship with the head honcho and his boyfriend.” 

Graeme blushes as he thinks about how close and personal that relationship is. “But you got it! That’s awesome!” He pulls István in for another hug. “Does Alan know?” 

“Now he does. After they did the background check required to work with kids, and they’d given me the official offer, I told him. We had to do some, uh, HR paperwork. It was incredibly embarrassing.” 

Graeme takes a moment to adjust his image of István in his mind. Truly, it’s not that far off from his conception, the idea that István’s working with at-risk LGBTQIA+ youth at Tommy's Place. It’s just...strange, seeing him in this capacity, so professional. To be honest, it makes Graeme all the more happy to submit to István’s Dom side, though he tries to shove that thought away given their current context. 

 Still, he pulls István into another hug. “I’m so proud of you. Thank you.” 

István blushes and shrugs, while at the same time straightening his spine with pride. “The clinic is coming along. Once I’ve got my specialist degree, we’ll be able to work a lot more with the community. Right now, I’m working under an interim director CNS. She’s great, though, so it works. Still, I can’t wait to implement my own ideas. Have you seen the clinic?”

“Just once, back before it was open. Just some empty rooms.”

“Do you have time now?” 

“A little, I have to get to class. Do you have to get to the staff meeting?” 

“We’ve got a little time before that, too. Come on, I’d love to show you.” István holds out his arm, and Graeme loops his around. 

It’s a delight, listening to István outline his plans for the clinic, talking about community health outreach. “The schools don’t teach them anything, you know. Abstinence,” István says with disgust. “Barely a mention about condoms, nothing about PrEP or PEP. Letting them know there’s a way to greatly reduce the risk of spreading HIV would be ‘encouraging them to have more sex,’ you know.” István’s eyebrows draw together, obviously thinking about some interaction he’s had with someone recently. 

Graeme squeezes his arm. “Bullshit.” 

“Right?” István pauses outside the clinic doors, taking a deep breath to center himself. “But we’re doing what we can with what we have right now, and that’s what we can do. And if I repeat that line from my therapist enough times, maybe it’ll stick,” he says with a private grin at Graeme, holding the door open. “I can’t take you to any patient areas during hours, for confidentiality, but we can look at the waiting room and the staff area."

He’s not expecting the trigger at all. He hasn’t been in a hospital since the car accident, so he didn’t- he didn’t know that-

The smell hits him first, that clinical sterile smell that reminds him of  _ pain. _ He doesn’t even have time to register it before his heart rate is ramping up, the panic attack shoving its way past the barriers the meds have built in Graeme’s brain. The white walls - why do all health places, hospitals, clinics, dentist offices, why do they all have to look like this? - seem bright, overly bright, in the fluorescent lighting.  

István’s concerned, “Graeme?” barely registers through the panic. 

He can feel the bite of the cold, rainy night, the desperation and hopelessness he’d felt, the jarring movement as the car slams into his side. He swears his hip is  _ on fire, _ and he clutches at it, his broken ribs making it impossible to take a deep breath-

“I need you to _breathe,_ _csillagom._ Breathe for me.” István’s hands are pushing at his back to force his head between his legs, and he belatedly realizes they’re sitting on a bench somewhere that’s not - not the clinic with the smell and the lights.

His breath is whistling out of his mouth and closes his eyes, making a conscious effort to slow it even as his mind still races. But he can feel it receding now, and that’s the meds, taking the edge off the panic attacks when they happen. A year ago, he would have had to go to work feeling jittery and off and experiencing aftershock spikes of anxiety for the next couple of days. He would have been more susceptible to another attack, too. In fact, he wonders if this one is connected to seeing his mom last month. It’s been awhile, but it also took him a long time to get over that one. 

Now, as his breathing calms, he’s able to clear his mind, focusing on István’s warm hand on his back and pretending that it’s Alan’s. After another few minutes, he pushes himself up to a seated position and manages, “I’m sorry.” 

István strokes through his hair and places a kiss on his brow. “No need for sorry, Graeme. You’re okay. Everything’s okay.” 

In that moment, Graeme realizes exactly how comforting his larger-than-life friend is. How perfectly István fits in a place like this, working with kids like Graeme had been. He takes István’s hand, tangling their fingers together and squeezing. “Thanks.” 

István nods, a small smile gracing his lips. “Promise me you’ll tell your therapist about that?” 

“Yeah, yeah, I’ll do that. I have a meeting with her later this week, anyway.” Still a little shaky, he leans into István, lets himself be comforted before he has to catch the bus for the community college. 

It’s the first bad panic attack he’s had in awhile that he hadn’t called Alan for, that he isn’t planning on calling Alan for - although he’ll certainly tell him later. That fact fills Graeme with a burst of confidence. He’s proud for proof that he’s not relying on Alan like a crutch. It just makes his love for the man feel all the more genuine and stronger. 

After a few more minutes of deep, careful breaths, the memory of pain all but gone, he stands, pulling István up with him. Looking into István’s eyes, he murmurs, “I can’t imagine a more perfect place for you to be than right here at this clinic. They’re lucky to have you, okay?” 

István’s face flushes, but he smiles as he pulls Graeme in for another hug. “Be careful with my Graeme, all right? I probably don’t need to tell you that you’re distracted and vulnerable right now in the aftermath.” 

Graeme shrugs. “I’m used to it. But-” he goes up on his toes to brush a kiss over István’s cheek, “thank you.” 

István walks him to the door of the center, watches him tuck his earbuds in for rain sounds, and gives him a small nod, which Graeme returns. Graeme blows him a kiss, and starts to walk toward the bus stop. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A little inside baseball re: Istvan's job, because I didn't make it quite clear in this particular piece. I think it will be clearer, possibly a plot point in Clark and Istvan's novel, but, a preview: 
> 
> We know from Szeretlek that when they first met, Istvan was working someplace he didn't like and called homophobic. Some point after that, Istvan realized he wanted to be helping people, and went to school to become a nurse, working up from and AS to BSN, etc. Whatever clinic he was working at, he realized he wanted to be working in an educational/community health capacity, especially with LGBTQIA+ youth and young adults, so he started getting his masters in nursing to become a Clinical Nurse Specialist (CNS). As of this fic, he's not done with the masters, but he might be by Play Dates, I'm not sure. BUT, I wanted the possibility of playing with that in that fic, so I wanted to establish this first. :)


	7. National Coming Out Day - Rated T

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Graeme invites some friends over to help him prepare food for a dance at Tommy's Place.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: Krista/Barbie calls herself a slut, in a reclaimed use of the word. It is not meant maliciously.

When the doorman rings the apartment to tell Graeme his guests have arrived, Graeme feels a little frisson of excitement and relief run on top of the current low level anxiety he's experiencing. He waits by the front door until he hears the ding of the elevator, then holds back Threepio with one socked foot so he can let István, Krista, and Mal in. István immediately sweeps Threepio up for cuddles even as Krista leans up to give Graeme a kiss on the cheek and Mal shucks off their shoes. 

“Y’okay, babe?” Krista asks, cupping Graeme’s cheek. 

_ So much for not showing my anxiety, _ Graeme thinks. “I just maybe bit off more than I can chew.” 

István closes the front door behind him and sets Threepio down, arching a brow at Graeme. “And let me guess, G, it has to be perfect, right?”

Graeme blushes. “It's for Alan,” he says simply, because really that says it all. 

“Alan, sure. But baby Mal, too.” They pat Graeme’s back, comforting. “And probably baby Krista, baby István, and baby Graeme, as well. What you’re doing for Tommy’s Place is something we probably all could’ve used way back when.”

Something inside Graeme settles, just by having his friends here. “Yeah.”

István kisses his forehead. “It’ll be okay,  _ csillagom _ . Just tell us what you need us to do.”

Last year had been the first annual Coming Out Day Dance at Tommy’s Place, specifically for the teens who frequent the center to get together and have some fun - a sort of ‘gay prom,’ some of them had called it. Graeme hadn’t attended, of course, as he and Alan wouldn’t have wanted to cramp the teens’ style, but just the fact that the dance existed, that the day was celebrated, that kids had someplace to be  _ themselves _ \- honestly, he keeps thinking his love for Alan will hit a plateau where he can’t possibly love anymore, but he hasn’t, not yet, not ever. 

This year, Alan and Gustavo have doubled down on the celebration; besides the teen dance, there’s going to be an elegant fundraising gala, complete with a catered dinner the night after. The kids’ dance is a potluck of sorts; Tommy’s Place is kicking in some funds, but the teen committee that put the dance together wanted it to be low-key. Chips, dips, good munching food. 

And Graeme had agreed to donate his time putting the spread together. 

He’s happy to do it, of course he is. He’d just realized, once he’d gotten the final approximate headcount from Gustavo and done his shopping, that he had way too much to do in too little time. 

A lesser man would’ve just decided to go with some store-bought veggie trays and call it good, but Graeme has the same philosophy about food that he has about his hand-knit products: when it’s handmade, it’s made with love in mind, and that energy passes on to whomever receives it. 

And he has a lot of good, happy vibes he wants to pass on to the queer youth at the Tommy Center. 

He passes around aprons for everyone, then clasps his hands together at his front. “Okay, so- who do we think has the best knife skills?”

Krista gives him a savage grin as she raises her hand - her kink scene persona Barbie is known for dabbling in knife play. 

“Okay, Krista, you’re on chopping duty. We’ve got carrots, celery, cucumbers and peppers to get through.” 

“On it.” She gives him a mock salute before he passes her a cutting board. 

With that, it’s easy to sort out the rest with everyone - István ends up putting together confetti cupcakes, from scratch, because he has experience with baking with his mom and grandma; Mal gets to work on the sour cream-based dips; and Graeme works on chopping ingredients for a home-made pico de gallo. It’ll have 24 hours to marinate before the dance tomorrow. 

Krista puts on some music, something low and generic that lets them talk to each other as they work. Still, she has a mound of various chopped vegetables around her before she says, “My niece texted me yesterday. She’s going to come out to her friends tomorrow. It’s...so weird to me, I mean, I love that she came out to us first, that she knew her family would support her one hundred percent. I just remember it being the opposite for me. My best friend knew I liked girls, but I couldn’t fathom telling my parents.” 

“I know what you mean,” István murmurs, scooping batter into rainbow-colored cupcake papers. “My mom and I never talked about it. Like, I think she knew, I’ve been like this since I was allowed to choose my own clothes for school.” He nods down at his outfit of the day of black leggings and a black and white tunic sweater ala David Rose. 

“Yeah.” Graeme blows out a breath, willing his fingers not to shake as he chops tomatoes. “Bridget wasn’t exactly...understanding. I’m not sure she even understands  _ now _ that I’m gay, she just found out I was willing to trade bjs for food and stuff and figured she needed a cut of the deal.” 

At the time, he’d known the sex work was something he needed to do to survive, and survival was paramount to everything - dignity, safety, everything. Now that he’s in a secure, happy place, emotionally and physically, he has this residual shame that he’s been working on with Clarissa. Still, he looks very carefully down at the tomatoes after he says this, not wanting to see anyone’s faces. 

István’s fingers wrap around his elbow gently, stilling his shaky knife. He presses a kiss to Graeme’s temple. “You’re okay, baby,” he says  _ sotto voce, _ Mal and Krista pretending not to hear. 

It’s steadying, and he gives István a nod and a hesitant smile. “I’m okay, thanks.” 

“Love you,” Isti whispers, and Graeme repeats it back. 

Steadier, he turns back to his cutting board and starts chopping again. 

“I didn’t know in high school,” Mal says, shredding cheese to put in the ‘crack’ dip. “I didn’t know non-binary was a thing, I just knew I felt weird. Not right. Never right, not through college…” They laugh a little, shaking their head. “It was a tumblr post, actually. Seems like such a silly thing, but a non-binary person wrote this post about how they felt, and for the first time I...I just remember thinking,  _ ‘Oh.’” _

“Aww.” István smiles, giving them a nudge, too. “That’s the best.” 

“Still took me a year to come out to anyone but myself, though. It just felt like...I’m 26 years old, I should have this shit figured out.” 

“Well I’m 34 and I’ll tell you…” Krista trails off, frowning at her veggies. “Nevermind.” She shakes her head. “Just, you’re good. It’s okay if you don’t figure it out early.” 

This time, it’s Graeme that offers Krista a comforting arm around her waist and a quiet, “You okay?” She responds with a small nod. 

“You know what? We need a drink.” Mal turns, rooting in the cupboards until they come across the vodka Graeme uses for pie crusts. “Okay, now we’re talking.” 

“Just a little bit for me,” Graeme calls, pulling coffee mugs down from the rack over the stove. 

István raises his hand. “And I’ll take what he doesn’t want.” 

Mal laughs as they pour out the shots, sliding the mugs over the island toward each of them. Graeme smiles gratefully when he sees that they only poured enough in his glass for a sip, really. Just enough to make a toast. 

“To Tommy’s Place, and future generations of baby queers figuring themselves out, however long it takes.” István raises his glass.  


There’s a ‘cheers’ around the kitchen, and then they all knock the shots back. Graeme sputters - he’s never done a shot of vodka, and when he’d put it on the grocery list for pie making, Alan had insisted on the good stuff, but it still  _ burns, _ all the way down his throat and into his stomach, where it spreads that false warmth that alcohol has. 

“I think I’m aromantic.” Krista’s mug clicks back down to the counter and she licks her lips. “I’ve never said that out loud before. Fuck.” She grabs the vodka, pours herself another shot. “To still figuring your shit out.” 

She knocks it back, then lets Graeme sweep her into a hug. They rock, bound together like that, in the kitchen, István and Mal joining them. “I just, I just. It’s like you said, Mal, it just never feels right. Being in a relationship. I can never relax, or feel like myself. I feel like a part of me is just constantly going crazy when I’m trying to fit myself to  _ be _ with someone else. I think I’m aromantic, and it’s never going to happen for me, and my parents will never get to see me married, and I’m just going to be Seattle Slut Barbie forever.” She laughs, wiping at her eyes, even as they all hug her. “But I  _ like _ being Seattle Slut Barbie.” 

“We like Seattle Slut Barbie, too,  _ csillagom.” _ István’s comment makes them laugh again, even if Graeme’s feeling a little teary now, too. 

Mal, who’s as vanilla as they come, nods their head. “We  _ adore _ her, just the way she is.” 

They break apart, settling on the stools around the kitchen island. “I didn’t know it was a thing, either, just like you, Mal. And then when I found out about it I just kind of felt … relieved? Like, oh, I’m actually not totally messed up when it comes to relationships. I just don’t do them, and that’s okay.” 

“It  _ is _ okay, Krista.” Graeme nudges her knee with his. “It’s okay that Alan’s asexual, isn’t it? Of course it’s okay.” 

“Tell my mom that. She keeps dropping hints about marriage.” 

“I’m your mom now,” István says matter-of-factly, pushing a tray of cupcake batter into the oven. 

“Me too,” Graeme echoes. 

Mal nods. “Me three.” 

“Me four.” Alan laughs when everyone comically jumps out of their skins at his appearance. “You guys didn’t notice me coming in because of the shots, I think. But I heard what you said, Krista, so I went looking in the bedroom for this, and…” He pulls a pin out of his pocket, pushing it across the counter to her. “I picked this up at Pride this year in a pack with an ace flag one.” The pin has five stripes, from green to black. “An aro flag.” 

“Dude.” Krista picks it up, examining it hesitantly. And then, something in her stance relaxes, and she pins it to her shirt. “Thanks, Alan. C’mere, bring it in again.” She beckons him over for a hug, and he obliges, swallowing up her small body in his lumberjack frame. 

If Alan’s home, that means… Graeme only slightly panics, looking around the kitchen and seeing what they still need to do to get done. “Guys, we need to step this shit up. István, more cupcakes, Mal, that looks great, Alan, join Krista on chopping duty. Let’s go!” 

“For the younglings!” Alan laughs at his own joke, then everyone joins in laughing at him. 

“Nerd,” Graeme says with affection.

"Says the person who got the Star Wars reference. Smart ass." 

With a grin, Graeme picks up his knife once more, his hand steady, his mind focused.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To everyone who has come out, and to everyone who can't, I love you. 
> 
> To paraphrase Gandhi, there are as many different ways to come out as there are people. This is a celebration of some of those ways. Every way is valid. Everyone who doesn't or can't come out right now is valid. We're all valid. Love you. <3
> 
> Nonsequiter, but, the recipe for crack dip, if you're interested. It's delicious and will ruin your life. https://www.whattheforkfoodblog.com/2015/01/30/crack-dip/

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! Happy to take prompts for these guys, if you want to see something. Can't guarantee I'll write it any time soon, but when the mood strikes, I might get to it. :)


End file.
